


Art Appreciation

by danceswithgary



Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Time, M/M, Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-30
Updated: 2008-04-30
Packaged: 2017-10-02 23:08:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithgary/pseuds/danceswithgary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark enjoyed his job moonlighting as a model for the evening art classes held at the museum. He knew things were going to get even better when he saw the newest student walk into the room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Art Appreciation

[  
Click For Full Size](http://pics.livejournal.com/danceswithgary/pic/000ak395)   


Clark enjoyed his job moonlighting as a model for the evening art classes held at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He knew things were going to get even better when he saw the newest student walk into the room. He spent that lesson draped over the posing block, dreaming about smooth pale skin. It was an effort not to turn his head to watch the slashing strokes of charcoal stick held in slender fingers. He had to content himself with glimpses from beneath his artfully lowered lashes as he held himself in position. There was odd, almost magnetic attraction about the man, something that Clark hadn't felt since he'd left his unrequited love for Lana far behind in Smallville.

 

Released from his invisible bonds at the end of class, Clark stretched and casually strolled over to the easel and student that had occupied his imagination. He pulled his white t-shirt over his head and tucked it into his jeans, as he pretended to study the sketch instead of the artist. "Nice work."

 

Blue eyes lifted from a box holding charcoal and colored chalk, and a smile teased at one corner of a mouth with an intriguing scar. "Owes something to the model." One hand rose to brush over the top of a hairless skull, and then rubbed at the back of his elegantly curved neck where the hooded gray sweatshirt left it exposed. "It's been a while since I've taken a class."

 

Clark had reached out automatically when the hand began its circuit, pulling back with a grin when he realized it was too late. "Your fingers...." The smudge that marred the ivory perfection made the other man more real, less a dream, and he almost regretted seeing wiped away with a handkerchief pulled from the back pocket of well-worn jeans. The sheepish grin was worth the trade, and Clark was quick to assure him, "You got it."

 

"Thanks. Bad habit, I'm afraid." He finished removing the charcoal residue from his hands before tucking the black-smeared cloth into the waiting box and snapping it shut. "I appreciate the save...." The pause was a hint, as was the raised eyebrow.

 

"Clark. Clark Kent." Clark thrust his hand out automatically with his introduction and was pleased when cool fingers slid against his palm in a firm handshake. "I...I'm the model for a lot of the life studies."

 

Releasing Clark's hand slowly, the artist nodded, his eyes twinkling up into Clark's with good humor. "A very good choice on the teacher's part, Clark...and I'm Lex Luthor." Clark noticed another pause, as if Lex were waiting for him to say something else.

 

"Pleased to meet you, Lex." Suddenly feeling shy, Clark backed up a few steps and jerked his head in the direction of the exit. "Well, maybe I'll see you next week?" He couldn't prevent a little hopefulness from creeping into the offhand words, and he was gratified to see a hint of color rise in Lex's cheeks in response. A quick duck of Lex's head as he slid his hood over his distinctive head was enough to send Clark bounding out of the building with a spring in his step along with a tingle of anticipation.

 

 

. . .

 

 

It was the last week for the life studies class, and Clark wasn't looking forward to finding another temporary job to make up for the loss of income. The pay rate had been excellent for a few hours of holding still. Money was always tight; the Met U academic scholarship covered his books and tuition, but room and board were his responsibility. His, not his parents'. He'd refused to let them pay for anything...he'd already cost them too much in broken and burned possessions while he was growing up and, at age nineteen, it was time for Clark to take care of himself without their help.

 

His absence from the farm was already tough enough on his dad, who'd had to take on the work Clark used to handle without even breaking a sweat. That reminded Clark that he'd promised a visit during the upcoming weekend to help with some chores that needed his special abilities. He grimaced at the thought of the hours of pay he'd lose, but there was nothing else that he could do. The semester had simply been an escalating struggle that was going to get a little bit worse. He wondered, not for the first time, if he'd be lucky enough to pick up a fulltime job over the summer to relieve some of the stress for the following semester.

 

"It's that bad?"

 

Lex's teasing voice behind him recalled Clark's wandering thoughts, and he shook his head emphatically, "No! It looks great. Really. I was...distracted, sorry." He traced the air above Lex's latest sketch with a blunt finger, careful not to smudge the chalk. "I like this line here, and the way you handled the lighting over my shoulders."

 

"Careful, the teacher will think you're looking to take over the lessons." A friendly nudge to the ribs with an elbow startled a laugh from Clark, and he turned to grin down into Lex's smiling face. "I bet you're glad you don't have to spend any more time keeping still, hmmm?"

 

"The modeling? No, not really. I'll...miss seeing...." Clark ducked his head and dropped his eyes, unwilling to see Lex's response to the slip. It was bad enough that he was losing the money. Not being able to see Lex again changed an aggravation into something that cut deeper. Clark had looked forward to seeing Lex, to their short conversations, a harmless weekly treat he'd allowed himself in a lonely life. His class and work schedule left him little time for his few surviving high-school friends and no time to make new ones, especially when he considered the added burden of his secrets.

 

Posing there under the museum's studio lights with Lex's eyes focused on him; he'd at least been able to...pretend. He'd liked seeing the little crinkle at the corner of Lex's eyes when he was really smiling, spent time wondering if his skin was as soft as it looked...and what it was that Lex used so that he always smelled good. Sometimes, he'd gotten the impression that Lex wanted to move beyond innocuous comments about the weather or sports, but the opportunity never presented itself. Resigning himself to the inevitable loss, Clark shrugged and murmured, "Well, I've got to get going. Maybe...." He cut himself short and turned away with a final hoarse whisper, "Goodbye, Lex."

 

The hand on his arm startled Clark, the words made his heart leap. "Hey, are you interested in going somewhere and grabbing a cup of coffee?"

 

 

. . .

 

 

"So... a freshman at Met U? What's your major?" Lex's bright eyes failed to conceal his honest interest in Clark's answer, and he smiled encouragingly across the small table before sipping his cappuccino.

 

Still flying high with the knowledge that Lex had wanted to spend some time with him, Clark shrugged and gazed down into his own cup of hot chocolate, still a little too shy to meet Lex's eyes for very long. He swirled it a little and watched the whipped cream dissolve as he admitted, "I haven't really decided yet, but I know I like to write and learning about people, so I'm leaning toward journalism. I used to work on the school newspaper and...." The silence across from him was almost palpable, and Clark glanced up to see Lex's face shutting down, the scarred smile disappearing behind a mask. "Lex? What's wrong?"

 

"Just wondering what the latest headline will read." The words were bitter, cutting. "I'll be sure to look for your name on the article, Kent." Lex set his cup down and shoved his chair backwards, the scrape across the floor harsh in the quiet atmosphere of the small coffee shop. He rose and headed for the door without another word, leaving Clark sitting there with his mouth gaping in bafflement.

 

As the door crunched closed behind Lex, Clark jumped to his feet, determined to find out what he'd done wrong...this time. He rushed outside and saw Lex stalking down the street toward the museum's parking lot, and his long strides quickly ate up the distance between them. "Lex! Wait!" He forced himself to be gentle when he grabbed Lex's shoulder, unwilling to hurt him, despite the distress that had Clark shaking and slightly out of control. When he gently tugged Lex around to face him, Clark searched his face for clues, wishing the streetlight were closer so that Lex couldn't hide his reactions in the shadows. "Please, I have to know. What just happened back there, Lex?

 

Dislodging Clark's hand with a shrug, Lex sneered, "Contact my publicist for any statements. I don't give interviews on the street."

 

"Interview?" Clark still hadn't been able to make the connection, and he shook his head in bewilderment as he protested, "I don't know what you're talking about Lex. _You_ were the one who suggested a cup of coffee, and I thought we were just talking and, all of a sudden, you...I...." Clark's voice trailed off as he realized that he'd somehow managed to ruin another friendship, this time without even using his _gifts_ or trying to hide his alien nature.

 

When he received no response, Clark closed his eyes for a moment and sighed, and then reopening them, he smiled down sadly into Lex's stone-hard face. "Whatever it was I said or did, Lex, I'm sorry." He reversed direction and walked away, heading toward the dorms. For once, he appreciated the three mile walk that would give him time to shove the ache down deep inside...and accept once more that he was destined to be alone.

 

 

. . .

 

 

The low thrum of an engine idling beside him finally penetrated Clark's daze and he turned his head toward the street in curiosity. The silvery-blue car...a late-model Porsche...was unfamiliar, and Clark frowned as it pulled into the curb when he stopped. The hooded figure that emerged from the car made things a little clearer, and Clark shook his head and began to walk away.

 

"Clark, wait!" The urgency in the sharp call halted Clark in his tracks, and he let Lex catch up with him without saying a word. He felt his shoulders hunch automatically into the same defensive posture he'd used in high school, as Lex walked around to stand in front of him. He kept his eyes trained on the cracked and buckled sidewalk, and didn't anticipate flinching when Lex grasped his bicep and squeezed gently. "Look, Clark. I'm sorry. I think I made a big mistake back there. It's just when people hear my name...."

 

Clark shrugged and pulled away carefully from the all-too-fragile human. "Doesn't matter. I have to...." Clark didn't bother to finish his pathetic attempt at speech, his stomach roiling as he caught the scent of Lex's cologne, knowing that it was the last time he'd be able to indulge in that forbidden pleasure. He stepped around Lex and continued down the street at a normal _human_ pace, reminding himself not to give in to the impulse to speed away.

 

He refused to let himself turn around and look back when he heard the words, "Clark, please."

 

He pretended that he wasn't listening for the sound of the Porsche's engine as it faded away in the distance...or the sound of a heart.

 

 

. . .

 

 

_...when people hear my name...._

 

Sleep had eluded Clark; Lex's words had kept bouncing around inside his brain until he'd given in and shuffled his clothes back on to run over to the student resources building. As usual, it had been quiet there at two o'clock in the morning, and he'd had no trouble finding an unclaimed PC. It was an older model, but it had still accessed the web relatively quickly. Clark had ended up scrolling through thousands of hits returned when he typed 'Lex Luthor' into the search engine.

 

By the time he'd left to get ready for his first class, he'd read about a young boy left bald after being caught in a meteor shower at age nine, the injury occurring during an aborted business trip with his father. Clark's hometown, Smallville, and the meteor shower his spaceship had arrived in, had played a large part in Lex's life, even though Clark hadn't known about it before. Unfortunately, Lex had ended up being one of many people affected by the meteorites' mutagenic properties, even though he and his father had never returned to Smallville.

 

There were few articles written about Lex until he reached his late teens. That was when the gossip columns exploded with sightings of Metropolis' bad boy at parties, bars...and police raids. Lionel Luthor's status as one of the richest men in the state did little to suppress the frenzy. If anything, it only exacerbated it. His father's death from liver disease seemed to have ended Lex's partying, but it didn't suppress the baying of the hounds of the press.

 

Clark had supposed that his isolation in Smallville was the only reason he hadn't recognized Lex's name that first day, and reading the less-than-flattering views of his younger life, he'd understood why Lex had reacted so strongly to the fact that Clark was even peripherally involved in journalism.

 

He'd also understood why there had never been any real chance that they'd have been more than passing acquaintances. As a result, it was a quite a surprise when he spotted a silver-blue Porsche parked at the curb outside his dorm two weeks later. Stopping a few feet away on the sidewalk, Clark had a hard time suppressing a snicker at the sight of the man leaning against the passenger door and wearing a familiar gray sweatshirt_...with the hood pulled up_...along with paint-stained jeans. Lex dressing down in an attempt to remain incognito seemed a little ridiculous when his license plates clearly said, 'LEX.'

 

"Clark."

 

Lex's voice was calm, but Clark could see the tension he was attempting to hide with his casual stance. Knowing some of the reasons for Lex's actions now, Clark decided it would probably make Lex feel better if Clark let him talk it out, and Clark could handle the pain for that long. He was used to it, after all.

 

"Hey, Lex."

 

Straightening from his cross-armed slouch, Lex took a few steps toward Clark, his hands dropping to his sides and flexing sporadically. His voice low and confidential, Lex requested politely, "Could we go somewhere...and talk, Clark? Please?"

 

"We can talk here." Clark's tone was just short of brusque, only his sympathy for Lex's past encounters with the media keeping him from walking away without a word.

 

Glancing around at the clumps of students pretending they weren't paying attention to the conversation, Lex let a hint of pleading creep into his voice. "I tried to call you, but your phone's been shut off and...." His voice rose a little, roughened with unexpected emotion. "Look, I know I really fucked up that night, Clark. Give me a chance to explain?"

 

A rustle and hum behind him alerted Clark to how those injudicious words were being interpreted...and the position that would leave Lex in when it came to headlines. In order to protect Lex from the risk, Clark kept his reply short and to the point. "I don't know what you're talking about, Lex. Nothing happened between us...and nothing ever will." He kept his head up, hoping his body language and facial expression declared the conversation unimportant to anyone watching. Even so, Clark was afraid that anyone seeing his eyes might be able to discern the truth, so he finished quickly with a shrug, "Have a nice life, Lex." He ignored the look of dismay that flashed across Lex's face and strode away purposefully, nodding to several of the nearby students and hoping that his own face revealed nothing of the turmoil behind it.

 

 

. . .

 

 

"Clark, someone phoned for you a few hours ago. I took a message for you, there's a number to call back."

 

Clark continued up the stairs, pulling off his dusty shirt on his way to the shower. He shouted back to his mother, "Okay, I'll check it out after I get cleaned up!" He'd just finished the last row of fencing, and was looking forward to as much hot water he could eke out of the aging water heater. Dropping the rest of his clothes to the bathroom floor, he stepped into the tub and sighed in contentment as the accumulated grime of the day began to rinse away. It had been a long week since he'd returned to Smallville for the summer, but he could see an end in sight for the immediate backlog of chores, even keeping his strength and speed down to reasonable levels to avoid questions from the farmhand his father had hired earlier that year.  

 

With the majority of the dirt swirling down the drain, Clark quickly shampooed before slowing down to scrub leisurely over his long arms and legs. Smoothing the soap over his hair-roughened skin, he suddenly recalled his dream of testing the texture of cream-pale skin with a dusting of freckles, no hair impeding the slide of his fingers across lean flesh and muscle. He gasped at the rush of heat that pooled in his groin, and a soapy hand measured his firm length as he leaned against the wall and relaxed into fantasy.

 

The slick glide into the heat of his fist complemented the pictures he painted in his mind, lines and curves gleaming with sweat, lips swept by a tempting tongue, blue eyes dancing with desire. They were the same visions that haunted his nights, dark with regret but still enough to pull a groan from his throat as imaginary hands teased their way down his body, plucking and stroking tenderly in turn. He licked his lips, tasting soap where he wished for the coffee and chocolate they'd been drinking that night, his whimsy supplying the details of the missing kiss. Consumed by fantasy, he let his pleasure rise until it spilled over in gasps and a single quiet moan of the name he'd tried in vain to forget. "Lex."

 

 

. . .

 

 

The company name and number on the message board didn't look familiar, but Clark had applied for so many different jobs before leaving Metropolis that it could have been from any one of them...or so he hoped. Fortunately, for his peace of mind, a woman answered on the second ring.

 

"Mr. Joseph's office, how may I help you?"

 

"Uh, this is Clark Kent. Someone left a...."

 

"Ah yes, Mr. Kent. I was hoping you'd call back. I understand that you might be interested in working as an artist's model. You were recommended quite highly by the Metropolitan Museum of Art, one of the teachers I spoke with there indicated you are very reliable and experienced in life studies posing."

 

"Uh...sure, that's great. So you have something for me?

 

"Yes, if you are interested. Mr. Joseph is looking for a model to be available whenever he has time free, starting next Monday. You would compensated for being 'on call,' of course, for two weeks to begin, terms to be re-negotiated at the end of the period. There are accommodations available at the studio, so there would be no need for you to be concerned about living arrangements or meals. There will also be entertainment provided, such as cable television, internet access and video games, since Mr. Joseph will have limited time outside his normal routine."

 

"Gee, that sounds pretty good so far. What would the salary be?"

 

"Understanding that this is such short notice, Mr. Joseph has authorized me to offer you two thousand dollars a week for the first two weeks. Again, this rate can be renegotiated at the end of that period."

 

Clark nearly dropped the phone. Four thousand dollars for two weeks work would cover most of the charges for his dorm room for the fall semester and would relieve a lot of the pressure he was under to cover his costs. Realizing that he hadn't answered, he fumbled the phone back to his ear and gasped, "Yes!" He could feel a blush overtake his cheeks at his unprofessional behavior. "I'm sorry, I meant to say that I am interested, Ms. ...?"

 

A warm chuckle reassured him. "Ah, yes. I'm Mercy Graves, Mr. Joseph's...assistant. He'll be glad to hear that I've found a model for him. Now, are you ready for the details on the location and what you can be expecting?"

 

Clark took a deep breath in relief and began jotting down names, numbers and the address of the apartment/studio where he would be spending the next two weeks earning four thousand dollars for sitting still.

 

It was almost too good to be true.

 

 

. . .

 

 

It had to be too good to be true. Clark kept expecting the alarm beside his bed to begin blaring and his mother to call up the stairs that breakfast was on the table.

 

He'd followed Ms. Grave's directions to a gentrified section of Metropolis, not far from the university. Warehouses and storefronts throughout the area had been lovingly restored or improved to provide a safe haven for young urban professionals. The studio apartment was located on the top floor of one of the tallest warehouses, and it overlooked a park whose expanse looked green and inviting in the midst of the city's noisy heat.

 

A woman had answered Clark's tentative knock, introducing herself as the assistant he spoken to, Mercy Graves. She'd provided a quick tour of the spacious apartment, pointing out the amenities and making it clear that he was free to use anything he found there. After handing him a key, a cell phone, and five hundred dollars cash for incidental expenses over and above the four thousand, she'd left him alone to explore.

 

The high-ceilinged loft had banks of windows on three sides that would provide varying degrees of light as the day went by. In addition, there were several skylights positioned strategically so that the night sky would be visible in the single bedroom and the living room area. There were no interior walls except for those around the hedonistic bathroom enclosure. Instead, tall wooden bookcases and wall units stood back-to-back on the stressed wood flooring to provide enclosed areas.

 

None of the furniture in the apartment appeared to be new, and Clark received the distinct impression that someone had lived there for a while sometime in the past, although not recently. The only items that felt out-of-place were the large screen television, DVD player and Alienware laptop with a wireless connection, all of them set up for easy access. A little more exploring revealed a fully-stocked kitchen and a stack of fast-food menus topped with a note to charge everything to Mr. Joseph's account.

 

Casually examining the books carelessly stacked in the bookcases, Clark smiled to see dog-eared pages and margin notes in most of them, and he resolved to spend as much time reading as playing with the computer or watching movies. Of course, that was before he found the season passes to the zoo, every one of Metropolis' museums, and the baseball stadium.

 

Flopping down on the couch in front of the television, Clark kicked off his sneakers, propped his feet on the coffee table, pinched himself hard...and then threw his head back to laugh in sheer wonder and amazement when the incredible dream proved to be reality.

 

 

. . .

 

 

The first three days, Clark stayed in the apartment, afraid that he might miss his employer if he left the building to take advantage of any of the passes. When he received a call from Mercy, letting him know that Mr. Joseph had been called out-of-town unexpectedly, Clark offered to leave. He was quickly assured that possibility had been anticipated, and that Clark was expected to remain until Mr. Joseph returned. Freed from his imaginary shackles, Clark went out on the town.

 

The relief from his almost constant state of worry had left Clark almost giddy. His life had changed dramatically two summers earlier, when his parents had reluctantly revealed his alien origin. Up to that point in time, he'd believed he was just another one of the Smallville residents affected by the meteorites, one that had managed to stay sane. At times, Clark wondered if his parents ever would have told him if the spaceship stored in the root cellar hadn't forced Clark to find the missing key buried in a field. Even his brief encounter with the effects of the red meteorite hadn't convinced them that he deserved to know why he was so different from all the rest of the mutants.

 

The hologram that had appeared out of the ship, insisting vehemently that Clark was destined to rule the world, was frightening, as were its threats to the people important to Clark. Desperate to escape a future he didn't want, Clark had finally carried the ship as far north as he could and buried it deep inside the base of a mountain, while the key had been thrown into the ocean using all of Clark's considerable strength. Depth and distance muted the ship's demands, but Clark still carried the burden of his differences with him at all times, and they isolated him from the rest of the world.

 

Clark's reluctance to use those advantages to improve his life was a Kent legacy, and that meant he struggled to make ends meet just like the majority of the human race. The two-week modeling job was the closest to a vacation that he'd had since he was old enough to help his father on the farm and, surprisingly, he found himself enjoying it without his customary guilt. With the reduction in stress came a calm that allowed Clark to think instead of racing to react, and a realization that he'd likely been suffering from depression for a while. The discovery only emphasized the fact that he needed to take advantage of the opportunity he'd lucked into, and to take more time for himself in the future,

 

A week later, when acting like a tourist finally palled, Clark logged on to the laptop and began exploring online. He resisted bringing up 'Lex Luthor' in a search engine for all of a day, before he buckled and began reading all the latest articles available online. With a few clicks, he discovered that Lex was in Europe wooing princesses, when not busily engaged in high-stakes negotiations for international firms. His curiosity sated for the moment, Clark was about to switch to a game when he noticed a familiar face peeking out from behind Lex's shoulder in one of the many paparazzi photos. Zooming in, he confirmed his suspicion, and then brought up one of the many available online biographies.

 

Closing the laptop with a disgruntled snap, Clark scrubbed his face with agitated hands, trying to decide what to do next with the information he'd found. Dropping his head back to rest it on the couch, he stared up through the skylight and wondered how he could have been so...oblivious.

 

The 'J' in Alexander J. Luthor stood for 'Joseph'...and yes, that _was_ Ms. Graves standing there in the photo, ready and waiting to...assist Lex. Only the walls heard Clark's outraged reaction.

 

"God damn it, Lex! What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

 

 

. . .

 

 

The park across the street was a good place to sit and think, the warm night air softened by the rustle of leaves and chirr of small insects. Clark leaned his back against a convenient tree and gazed up at the stars as he tried to decide what to do about Lex and the apartment...and the money. He still resented the trick that had been played on him, the lies about his benefactor's identity, but too many years spent concealing himself inevitably left Clark sympathetic to someone else's need to hide from a prying world.

 

He just wished he were sure what Lex was looking for, what Lex expected to happen in the end. Clark thought back to that day Lex had parked in front of his dorm, waiting for a chance to explain to Clark what had happened. Lex hadn't really been trying to hide that day. Lex was anything but stupid and he'd known that there was a good chance that he would be recognized, but he'd been trying to _show_ something to Clark. He hadn't been Lex Luthor the multi-millionaire that day; he'd presented himself as the man who'd taken group art classes at night in a museum, instead of hiring a private tutor, someone who was trying to balance fame and fortune with a need for something 'real' in his life.

 

In a way, the studio apartment also represented that need, with everything that had been arranged for comfort instead of show. Lex had moved the television and laptop in to amuse Clark, whereas Lex's own choice of entertainment appeared to be the well-read books and his artwork. Clark began to wonder what Lex's new apartment on the top floor of LuthorCorp looked like, and whether Lex missed being in his studio, whether he was keeping Lex from his refuge.

 

The more he thought about it, the more puzzled Clark became. There was no discernible profit motive behind Lex's behavior and, with his continued absence from the apartment, no obvious intent to take advantage of Clark. If Clark were honest with himself, the possibility that Lex was trying to build a bridge to friendship was oddly appealing, albeit his methods left something to be desired. It had been so long since Clark had tried to make a friend that he had to wonder if he'd even recognize an ordinary attempt. That seemed to call for extraordinary measures...for both of them in their unique isolation.

 

Of course, it could just be sex. Clark wasn't naive, he knew that people considered him attractive, and he'd had his share of one-night stands in Metropolis during his days under the red rock's influence, and again when he started classes at the university. Ultimately, they'd left him unsatisfied, and he'd decided that they weren't worth it. Lex had been the first person in a long time that had inspired Clark to consider trying again. If Lex had set everything up as an elaborate scheme to get Clark in his bed....

 

His anger dissipating as he thought through possibilities, Clark opened himself to the sounds of the city, something he'd learned to avoid after his first few months out of Smallville. It had taken time for him to learn not to respond to every call or cry, to keep his need to race to help under control, and his existence free of scrutiny. It didn't mean he would deliberately walk away from someone in danger, but he'd stopped searching it out, knowing he walked on a knife's edge and he would slice his life to ribbons if he failed to maintain a balance. He'd had to learn the hard way that he was only one person, and that he wasn't responsible for all the ills of the world. The alternative was a descent into insanity, and a very real danger for the human race considering his alien strengths.

 

Rising to his feet, Clark pinpointed a need across the city and raced to fulfill it. He'd decided to spend a few hours that night helping an unfortunate few, and then he would return to the apartment to play Lex's game out to the unpredictable end.

 

The difference was that Lex didn't know everything about the opposing player...and that the rules had changed.

 

 

. . .

 

 

Clark's insistence that he meet with Mr. Joseph before considering an extension was met with little protest and no promises from Ms. Graves. Believing that Lex was still in Europe, Clark was sure that his time in the apartment would soon be ending, since he refused to continue beyond the initial term now that he knew the truth. He resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't going to get a chance to confront Lex after all, and resolved to enjoy the last few days before returning to Smallville.

 

It was late when Clark finished the book he'd been reading, and he was yawning as he packed his small suitcase with the few clothes he'd brought with him. He sighed as he crawled into the king-size bed, knowing he'd miss its comfort along with the other amenities he'd become accustomed to in the past two weeks. He fell asleep watching the stars and the half-moon through the skylight.

 

Rolling onto his back, Clark scrubbed away the shreds of a dream, frowning up at the night sky and knowing he wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep easily. Closing his eyes, he shoved down the sheet impatiently and slid his hand inside his boxers to tug gently on his partial arousal. He was hoping that he could convince his body that falling back asleep would be possible with a little self-help.

 

The stirring he felt at the idea seemed to indicate consensus, so his boxers joined the sheet at the foot of his bed. His strokes were slow and lazy, with no particular urgency behind his actions, favorite scenes unreeling behind his eyelids and adding to the heat that began to surge through his veins. One face in particular dominated the erotic slideshow, and Clark's hips began to pump rhythmically in counterpoint to his hand. Licking his lips, Clark panted out the name that haunted his dreams all too often. "Lex."

 

A gasp, _someone else's gasp_, brought Clark's eyes wide open and his handling to an abrupt halt. He sat up in bed and looked toward the bedroom doorway, his muscles clenching at the sight of the figure standing in the doorway. There was not enough light in the room to make out details, and Clark grabbed for his boxers before he ventured a guess as to the identity of the intruder. "Lex? Is that you?"

 

The quiet voice confirmed Clark's deduction. "I suppose I shouldn't be too shocked that you figured things out, Clark. Mercy informed me that you were going to leave unless you were able to meet...me." Clark could just barely make out the movement, but he could guess that Lex's hand had just passed over his head to rub the back of his neck. "You didn't leave me much choice." Leaving his position by the door, Lex advanced a few feet toward the bed, where Clark was sitting quietly after shimmying back into his boxers. "I must admit I wasn't expecting a feature role in your...."

 

Clark interrupted, not caring whether he was rude or not. "Let me make this clear, Lex. Yes, I _was_ interested in you that way, but we never got any farther than a cup of coffee. You lied to get me here, but I believe that I understand why...and I even think that I can forgive you for it. However, if you decide to get into this bed with me right now, I won't reject you, but I will pay you back every cent you've given me for the last two weeks. I may be willing to model for money, Lex, but I'm not a fuck toy for sale. Got it?"

 

After a brief moment of startled silence, Lex protested Clark's blunt declaration, "But, you need that money!"

 

"My terms, Lex. I won't fuck for pay."

 

Lex took one step toward the bed, his pale hand reaching out, glimmering in the dim light of the stars, and then his arm dropped to his side and he shook his head. "No, I never thought that you would, Clark. All right, I accept. I want you to stay for another two weeks, the same arrangements and fee as before. I'll be here after one tomorrow to...to start working on some new pieces."

 

"All right, Lex. I'll stay...for now, but we still have some talking to do."

 

Lex left the room without another word, and Clark listened to his receding footsteps, even after the apartment door clicked shut behind him. Some people might have considered their agreement an ending, but Clark held on to the hope that it marked a beginning.

 

 

. . .

 

 

At first, the silence between them felt strained but, by the end of the third day, it had begun to feel closer to the quiet communion they had shared during the classes at the museum. Lex, dressed casually in jeans and a sweatshirt, usually arrived sometime between one and two o'clock in the afternoon. He would retrieve his materials from a locked closet and then direct Clark's positioning under the light pouring in through the windows, before setting up his easel and positioning it to take advantage of the natural light. Clark usually ended up lying on the floor in nothing but jeans, while Lex arranged Japanese screens to create shadows and lines that shifted as the sun traversed the sky.

 

They never spoke beyond simple instructions and casual remarks about the weather or the status of each other's health. Clark dozed, lazy in the sunlight, lulled by the scratch and shush of pencil, charcoal, and chalk. The murmur of the soft instrumental music Lex played in the background helped smooth away the rough edges of lies and old anger, and filled the spaces left by the missing words. The occasional caustic rip signaling the start of a new sheet would rouse Clark temporarily, and he would lift his head to smile at the studies scattered around Lex's bare feet.

 

Lex worked frenetically, as if he were afraid that his model would vanish before Lex could find what he was searching for inside the bold lines he slashed across the wide sketchpad. Lex's pace never slowed until some internal alarm forced him to look up at the setting sun with a frown, declare they were finished for the day, and make a hurried departure.

 

On the third evening, Lex changed his routine. Rather than excusing himself politely and leaving Clark to spend the night alone, Lex dawdled as he tidied away his materials. Absently scrubbing his hands clean on his progressively grubby t-shirt, Lex picked up his discarded sweatshirt and held it loosely in front of him as he suggested, "A few blocks away, there's a family-style Italian restaurant that I used to like. Would...would you be interested in having dinner with me?"

 

The deceptively offhand invitation had caught Clark in the middle of pulling his own shirt on, and he froze for a split-second before he emerged from the folds wearing a pleased grin. "Sure. That sounds...great." He chuckled as he took pity on Lex, who'd immediately headed for the door. "Uh...you might want to stop off in the bathroom first. You rubbed your head again."

 

 

. . .

 

 

"I've only seen you sketching. Do you ever work in oils or watercolor?" The conversation had been fitful at best while they waited for their meal, and Clark had finally decided that it was going to be up to him to move it beyond meaningless small talk.

 

Taking a sip of wine, Lex shrugged. "Acrylics, but I haven't for...years, really. Not since before my father died, anyway. I've been thinking about it, though, maybe work up some of the sketches, if you wouldn't mind."

 

Clark looked across the table with a baffled frown. "That _is_ why I'm here, isn't it? You hired me to pose. It shouldn't matter what media you want to use. Right?"

 

Arranging his tableware occupied Lex's eyes and hands as he avoided answering Clark's question. Finally, he looked back up and reluctantly explained, "It makes it more...real...grants my dreams substance and life when I paint."

 

"Is that a problem?" Clark was still puzzled by Lex's response. "Don't you want the reality?"

 

Waiting until after their plates had been set down in front of them and their server dismissed, Lex shook his head tentatively. "Once I've painted them, transferred them to canvas, my dreams become...powerless, insubstantial...and then they disappear."

 

Unable to think of anything to refute Lex's statement, Clark applied himself to his fettuccine Alfredo, silently wondering if he was ever going to understand the man sitting across from him.

 

 

. . .

 

 

"I don't always feel comfortable with abstract art. It leaves me twitchy, like I can't quite figure out what I'm overlooking, or someone is whispering answers I can't quite hear." Clark frowned at the paintings scattered across the wall of the museum and tried to find the right words to describe his dilemma. "Other times, it...clicks, and it's as though I was waiting for it to fill in a missing part of me, something I didn't know wasn't there."

 

Lex nodded as he surveyed the artwork in question. "I have to agree that sometimes it doesn't make sense to me either. I tend to prefer something closer to realism, even though I have a few...." Lex's voice trailed off and he shook himself, as if to dispel an unpleasant memory. He turned and looked up at Clark with a smile. "If it wasn't raining, we could take a walk in the sculpture garden. There are a few pieces that I'd love to show you."

 

"If it wasn't raining, I'd still be on the floor of the apartment, looking up at the sun and wishing I were outdoors." Clark nudged Lex in the ribs with a careful elbow, his teasing grin making it clear that he was only joking. Nevertheless, Lex seemed to take his mocking complaint to heart.

 

"There's a home game tomorrow afternoon, right? I haven't been to one in...years. Why don't I pick you up tomorrow, and you can reintroduce me to the national pastime."

 

"With chili dogs and peanuts and...beer?"

 

"And get picked up for enabling underage drinking?"

 

"It's not like I haven't.... Fine. Root beer, then. And...popcorn."

 

"Great! It's a date."

 

With a satisfied nod of his head, Lex turned and headed for the next room. Clark watched him for a moment before he followed close behind, murmuring, "Yes, it will be."

 

 

. . .

 

 

"I really enjoyed myself, Lex. It's a lot more fun going to the game with someone." Clark paused for a moment before reaching for the Porsche's door handle. "Back to sketching tomorrow?"

 

Lex's hands clenched on the wheel, a clear signal to Clark even before he quietly apologized, "I'm sorry, but I have some meetings that I can't postpone."

 

Clark cut him short, reassuring Lex, "I understand, really. I'm actually surprised that you've been able to come by so often. Let me know when and I'll make sure I'm there. You only have three days left, after all."

 

"Clark...." Lex turned his head to look at Clark, the strain in his face clearly visible under the streetlight. "I want...." Compressing his lips, Lex clenched his jaw shut before he could finish, and Clark suppressed a twinge of disappointment. Nodding, he opened the car door and climbed out, closing it behind him with a muffled thud. He stood on the curb and bent over enough to wave through the open window, before turning and loping up the sidewalk and into the renovated warehouse.

 

Alone.

 

 

. . .

 

 

Clark knew that it wouldn't take long to pack the next morning, so he left the small suitcase under the unmade bed and wandered out into the living room. He wasn't hungry, and neither the television nor the computer appealed to him. Leaving all the lamps off, he padded barefoot to the windows and stood there looking out across the city, the lights in the encroaching buildings forming a luminous cage beneath the stars. He hadn't bothered to put on anything except his jeans, as if somewhere in the back of his mind he was convinced dressing as if waiting for a session would magically make it happen. Unfortunately, Lex hadn't returned to the apartment after the day of the baseball game, his excuses made by his assistant, with no indication of when he would be visiting again.

 

The days Clark had spent getting to know Lex, learning his opinions on politics, books, art and music, seemed like a pleasant dream. It was one that he was being forced to wake up without any recourse. He knew that he was going to miss the other man, his sense of humor, his intelligence, his insights into politics and business. He'd hoped that he could say goodbye in person, but that didn't appear to be an option, and he was afraid that it was because of his 'terms.' Clark had felt the attraction between them strengthen with each passing day and he was almost certain that Lex had too.

 

The problem was that Lex's sense of honor wouldn't let him take a chance on Clark refusing to accept the money he'd earned modeling. Clark was beginning to wish he'd never taken the job, and had a feeling he was going to regret his decision for a very long time.

 

A knock on the apartment's door caught him unprepared, and he froze for a moment before he scanned through the wall and identified his visitor. He couldn't prevent the smile that overtook his face as he hurried to let Lex in. He was a little breathless as he flung the door wide. "Lex!"

 

"I thought I'd stop by...it's not too late, is it?" Lex was oddly diffident for a man that bought and sold international concerns on a daily basis. "Do you mind...."

 

"Of course not! This _is_ your apartment." Clark stood aside so that Lex could walk past him and into the living room. "Something to drink?"

 

Lex waved away the offer of refreshment and stood in the center of the room, irresolute. Clark had no difficulty making out his strained features, between the stars overhead and the streetlights outside. Lex's mouth opened and closed several times before he finally managed, "You're leaving tomorrow. Going back to Smallville?"

 

"Yeah. My bus leaves at nine." Clark shrugged and sat on an arm of the couch, puzzled at Lex's behavior but willing himself to be patient. "Why don't you have a seat?"

 

"No. I really can't stay. I just...I wanted to tell you how much I've enjoyed the time we've had together. I only wish that...." He turned away to face the wall, pretending to study the contents of the bookcase, as if denying himself even the sight of Clark. His attempt would have been more believable if there had been enough light to read the titles of the books.

 

Clark could read the tension in every line of Lex's body and it tugged at him, at his elemental need to help those in distress. He rose and approached Lex, his movements slow and cautious, as though he were taming something wild. He reached out and grasped Lex's biceps, feeling the quiver of muscles poised for flight under the soft faded cotton of his hooded sweatshirt. "What do you wish, Lex?" His voice was low and soothing, and he watched in relief as some of the tension in Lex's shoulders bled away.

 

Lex breathed his answer out on a sigh. "That I'd never walked away from you that night. That we had more time." His head drooped forward as he haltingly continued, "That you would...stay."

 

"Are you asking me to stay longer and model for you?" Clark's question was slow and deliberate. He wanted to make sure there would be no bad assumptions, no misunderstanding of motives this time around.

 

"Yes...no. Not if it means...." Spinning around, dislodging Clark's hands easily with the move, Lex's head lifted and he searched Clark's face in the dim light. His voice strengthened and he insisted more firmly, "Fuck it, Clark. No. Not if taking my money means that I can't do this." Lifting his face, he leaned in and pressed his lips to Clark's, moving softly, asking permission and then _taking_ when he wasn't refused.

 

Sharing each other's breath, they pressed so tightly together that Clark found it hard to feel where Lex ended and he began. Released from his tight control, Lex was greedy, his mouth taking everything that Clark had to give and demanding still more. Clark groaned at Lex's taste, sour scotch barely tainting the sweet, just enough to make it real instead of another dream. It was like no other kiss he'd shared before, hot and wet and deep enough to have every nerve ending in his body demand equal time, jealous of Clark's tongue and lips.

 

Lex withdrew, his hands coming up to flatten against Clark's chest and keep him at a distance. His jaw worked and his scarred mouth compressed before he shook his and took a step back...out of Clark's arms. "God, I can't do this, Clark. I can't be that...selfish. You need the money." His arms dropped to his sides, fists clenched. "I can't be that man anymore. I can't even remember why I thought it was such a good idea to hire you in the first place." His head lifted and he straightened his shoulders until Clark was ready to swear he caught a glimpse of a purple cloak and gleaming armor. "If you stay, I'll pay you, and I won't touch you. We'll handle it just as we have been."

 

"And if I leave?"

 

Lex's face was bleak, but his voice was steady. "Then I'll add another line to a long list of regrets, and you'll lose an opportunity to make more money for your expenses next semester. One way, I'm the only one coming up short, the other...we both lose."

 

A step forward brought Clark back into Lex's space, and he could feel the nervous heat rising from his lean body. He raised one hand to glide two fingers along Lex's tight jaw, and then he suggested, "I have a third option. I'll stay and *model* for free...and I can find another job to cover the expenses."

 

The hope in Lex's eyes gleamed in the starlight, the stressed lines in his face lifting as he considered Clark's proposal. He turned his face into Clark's hand, and nodded just enough that Clark could feel the nudge clear to his heart. His voice rasped a single word. "Please."

 

Sliding his hand along Lex's neck and shoulder, Clark continued his downward trek until he could enfold Lex's hand inside his. "Come with me." With a gentle tug, he drew Lex after him, never looking away, until they were both standing next to the bed. Dropping Lex's hand, Clark traded it for the edges of his gray sweatshirt and wasted no time shoving it up Lex's torso and over his head. He dropped it carelessly to the floor as Lex toed off his sneakers and socks, and then, finally, Clark embraced the body he'd craved, cream silk that shimmered under the stars, shivered against his lips.

 

Their hands collided at each other's waist, and Clark nibbled Lex's laughter away before relinquishing control, trusting Lex's clever fingers to take the lead. He didn't disappoint Clark. Barriers vanished, and age-softened denim slid to the floor, ignored as they took the few steps remaining and tumbled onto the rumpled sheets. Arms and legs notched together as if fashioned on the same lathe, dovetailed joints needing nothing save the other for support.

 

With Lex draped over him, Clark prized the sensation of being anchored, tethered to a world he struggled to be part of so often. His movements shifted from frantic to tender, the urgency tempered by the waves of pleasure rolling over him. Lex matched him, his deft hands exploring Clark, stroking the places he'd only brushed accidentally while setting a pose. Clark groaned into Lex's searching mouth and dropped his hands to clench the sheets, unwilling to hold Lex as close as his body demanded, fearing a loss of control. He winced at the thought of deep purple marring the perfect flesh that was bringing him such exquisite pleasure. Nothing...no one...had ever affected Clark so intensely, threatened his control so completely.

 

"Lex...." A name was all Clark could manage everything else fleeing his mind as the waves of release rolled closer, washing in and receding, rhythmic motion propelled by the scrape and glide, hot, slick, sweat a salted gloss between them. Clark arched upwards, the bow of his back a bridge to cross to a new landscape of colors too bright, sounds that plucked nerves strung tight. The taste of Lex flooded his mouth and throat, straining for more until Clark knew he would burn to ash within until the torrent broke free until he felt Lex's silky heat splash and mix with his and the bridge crumbled, his journey halted...for now.

 

 "Clark...God...that was...incredible. You're incredible." Lex's voice was languid, syllables dripping with satiation even as he tried to maintain some semblance of competence. "Are you all right?"

 

Clark felt the burning subside behind his closed eyelids and nodded, mouthing his answer along Lex's conveniently placed jaw. "I'm incredible...and you're incredible, too." He chuckled, savoring the salt his tongue had discovered just below Lex's ear. "I'm going to need a thesaurus by the bed. I think my brain has lost all every synonym I ever knew. Evaporated. Poof."

 

Pulling away from Clark's tickling attentions, Lex rolled off to one side until he was flat on his back, looking up through the skylight. "Mmmm. Yes. So I should...." With a small grunt, he attempted to leave the bed, halting when Clark's hand dropped to his hip, a wordless request. "Do you want me to...stay or leave?"

 

Clark lifted his hand and then tucked both behind his head, deliberately looking up instead of at Lex. He took a deep, calming breath and then let it out slowly before he began, "I want you to stay but, to be honest, there's something I need to...." Clark rolled to his side, propping his head on one bent elbow, his other hand hovering just above Lex's chest, his heart. "This isn't easy for me, Lex. Shit. I've been greedy. Okay? I wanted at least one time to remember, but it wouldn't be fair to you...to us...to continue...without telling you everything."

 

There was a shift on the mattress next to him, and cool fingers against his lips stilled Clark's mumbling. Lex whispered, "Are you trying to tell me you're sick? That you really are in this for the money?" When Clark shook his head vehemently, Lex nodded and twisted his head enough to place a kiss on the shoulder next to him. "Then there's nothing you can tell me right this minute that's going to change how I feel about you, so let's just go to sleep." He pressed harder against Clark's lips to muffle the protest, chuckling, "Sleep. We'll have plenty of time to talk, now that you're staying."

 

Reluctantly, Clark nodded, and then let his hand descend to rest where he wanted to stay, accepted for whom he was.

 

 

. . .

 

 

The tickle across his nose brought Clark out of his dreamless sleep. He and Lex had cleaned up, and then they crawled back into bed, Lex fitting inside Clark's arms as if he'd always belonged there. The comfort of another body had held him captive to slumber long past his usual time to wake up, but the sunlight filtering through the skylight and over the top of the partitions had been slowly nudging him toward consciousness. As Clark stretched lazily, Lex's absence registered, and he began to rub the sleep out of his eyes just another light touch teased along his cheekbone. Clark looked up into blue eyes alight with devilish amusement. "Lex?"

 

"I want to paint you just like this, all sleepy, lines in your face from the pillow and your hair a mess." Kneeling down next to Clark on the bed, Lex grinned and stroked the paintbrush he was holding down the bridge of Clark's nose, ending with a swirl at the tip.

 

"Are you _painting_ me?" Clark couldn't resist Lex's infectious smile and chuckled at his antics. "What color did you choose for me?"

 

Lex shook his head and smirked. "No color. It's dry." The pointed sable brush smoothed along Clark's eyebrow and flicked over to his ear, where it delicately outlined the whorls and ridges. "Too much?"

 

Feeling the heat and pleasure pooling in his lower region, Clark shook his head. "No. I think I like it. A lot." His admission earned his collarbone a little time with the mink-soft hairs, and he hissed in pleasure when the feather-light strokes traveled downward to ring his nipples. "God, that feels...so good." A glance through passion-heavy lashes revealed that Lex was enjoying giving as much as Clark was receiving. "Is...is this what you do with all your models?"

 

Lex's face shuttered and Clark instantly regretted the careless gibe. "I've never worked with a model outside of a class, Clark, so the answer would be pretty obvious." When Lex shifted to leave the bed, Clark's hand shot out and grasped Lex's wrist carefully, begging forgiveness with his eyes. After a moment, Lex relented and relaxed again, although he failed to return to his former task.

 

Pouting deliberately, Clark prodded him shamelessly, shoving the sheets away so that nothing concealed his body from Lex's view. "I'm only partially _painted_. Are you going to leave me half-done." He knew his teasing had been successful when he saw the passion kindle in the blue eyes once more, and he relaxed back into the mattress with a contented sigh. It turned into a squeak when Lex discovered how ticklish Clark's ribs were. "Not there!"

 

"I stood behind my easel and imagined touching you, learning your lines and angles with my fingertips, testing the strength I could see each time you moved." The brush danced around Clark's navel, tangling in the few hairs dusted around it and then ruffling along the darkening trails downward. Clark's hips jerked as the skin along the edge of his thick curls was teased, and when the arch of his pelvis was traced out in short strokes. "You would stretch and smile at me, and I couldn't believe you'd missed how hard I was."

 

A moan slipped free as Clark opened his thighs wider, and he confessed. "I didn't miss it, Lex. I didn't need to stretch all that often. You just kept working faster, so I couldn't be sure."

 

"I didn't want you to walk out without your money, so every time I left here I couldn't wait to get somewhere private so I could remember what you looked like." Lex dipped the brush between Clark's thighs and watched his reactions avidly. His smile was wicked when he looked back up at Clark. "I think the longest I lasted was a minute. It got to be quite embarrassing."

 

"I...I think I might be in for...some embarrassing...moments myself," Clark panted, reaching for the headboard to stop himself from grabbing Lex. "I may never be able to...look at a...paintbrush the same way." The brush painted long strokes along Clark's blood-heavy shaft, covering it from base to tip, the soft bristles moistening as Lex swirled around the rosy head picking up glistening drops. When he leaned over to blow a stream of warm air across the sensitized skin, it proved too much for Clark and he released the headboard to curl upward with a shout, painting himself milky-white. With a groan, he collapsed back onto his pillow and blinked up at the pale-blue sky with dazed eyes.

 

Lex had dropped the paintbrush at Clark's side and his hand was busy for a few seconds before Clark roused enough to catch his arm. With a lazy smile, he urged Lex to lay back, and then he picked up the brush, blowing on it gently to dry the soft, damp hairs. Beginning with Lex's forehead, he began to trace cryptic symbols across the broad expanse while explaining, "I'm afraid I've only done paint-by-numbers, but I think I can improvise. I'll just call your lips, 'one' and your nose, 'two.'"

 

Lex relaxed and grinned up at Clark, agreeing, "That should work. I'll try to be...patient as you work your way into...the double-digits."

 

 

. . .

 

 

Lex had always kept clothes in the apartment for his occasional visits before Clark's arrival, so there was no need for him to return to his penthouse. A call to his assistant cleared Lex's schedule for the day, except for one conference call in the afternoon that he couldn't avoid. Clark contacted his parents to let them know he was staying in the city for another week or two, ostensibly to look for a job since he had a place to stay. Both he and Lex knew that these were temporary measures at best, but Clark was sure they would be able to work things out between them.

 

A late breakfast followed by movie spread out together on the couch filled their day until the early afternoon call. Lex took his phone into the bedroom while Clark resumed his reading in the quiet apartment. A short time later, he decided to get a drink and, while passing the closet Lex usually kept locked, he noticed the door stood open a crack. Curious, he pulled it open and looked inside.

 

The shelves of brushes, paints, and rags were no surprise. Neither was the easel. The stacks of canvas, on the other hand, were. Clark glimpsed enough color to realize that they weren't blank, and he gave into the impulse to bring them out into the light. He brought the stack out into the living room and lined them up along the wall, before he stood back and really _looked_ at them.

 

They were obviously Lex's work. Clark had noted the distinctive double 'L' linked above a two-digit year on too many sketches not to recognize it. The dates ranged as far back as '92' with the most recent '02.' Focusing on the subjects, Clark felt a sense of unease stealing over him, one that became more disturbing with each painting he examined. The style was definitely Lex's, the bold slashing lines becoming closer to his current work as he'd aged. The colors were striking, where they avoided grim blacks and grays.

 

They were nightmarish visions of a personal hell.

 

Fire consumed a crucified man, whirlwinds tore cities apart, a Janus screamed with both faces encased behind ice. A snarling wolf, a spider with a human face and a creature with a maw open to swallow the world inhabited the canvases, their horror screaming out at any onlooker. Yet, even those visions weren't the worst for Clark. That was reserved for the painting containing the face he'd seen in the mirror growing up in Smallville. Underwater and in the midst of flame, an Atlas with the world on his shoulders, on his knees in a graveyard screaming in endless silence...his visage populated a nightmare world and struggled with a darkling beast.

 

Immersed in his study, Clark failed to notice the bedroom door opening and Lex walking out into the living room. "How did you...?" Lex whirled and saw the closet gaping open, his secrets exposed. "Fuck, you weren't...."

 

Clark raised his head and stared in disbelief at the other man. "Is this why you shut me down last night, Lex? I was ready and willing to tell you _everything_ about me. Instead, it turns out that you already knew...you've been hiding all...this. Did you ever really want _me_, or was it just some experiment, another opportunity to exorcise your demons?"

 

"No! It was never that, Clark! I...." Lex rubbed the back of his neck in his characteristic gesture of stress, and Clark suppressed his own aching need to let his hands relieve the knots of stress for Lex. "I didn't even recognize you at first. I hadn't looked at these in years. It all started a few years after...this...." Lex slid his hand after his bare head, wincing as he tried to explain. "I painted them, and then I put them away so that the nightmares would stop...and they did."

 

Clark waved at the stack of canvases, his voice rough as he asked, "So what happened in Smallville...I'm the reason for your nightmares? _I'm_ what you feared?"

 

Lex's eyes closed and his shoulders slumped in defeat. "No! Not all of them. I keep one in my bedroom that isn't.... That's over." Clark felt his heart ache when Lex's eyes opened and met his in blue despair. "Now, I'm frightened of something else."

 

"What are you afraid of?" When Lex refused to answer, walking away from Clark to look out the window, Clark retrieved his sneakers from the bedroom and yanked them on. He tried a final time, but when Lex still stood silent and aloof, Clark sighed and shook his head. "I'm going for a walk, Lex. I need some time...to think."

 

The streets embraced Clark with their chaos, the whirl of motion and crush of sound creating a fast-raveling cocoon. He let his senses waken, allowed them to be overwhelmed with humanity's constant demands, the cacophony driving out his own demons in place of paint and canvas. He understood Lex's desire for privacy; to conceal what made him different...Clark lived that every day. When he thought about it, he wasn't concerned that Lex planned to lock him away in a lab somewhere. If he were going to...Clark would be there already.

 

A golden glint called to him and Clark paused to look up at the globe perched atop the building housing 'The Daily Planet,' the newspaper he'd thought about working for one day if he pursued a degree in journalism. Struck by an impulse, he ducked inside and took the elevator to the observation deck. It only took a few moments for him to locate the LuthorCorp building, and he focused his x-ray vision on the penthouse floor. It was a little dizzying, but he was finally able to find what looked to be Lex's bedroom...and the painting he'd mounted above his bed. Dated the year before, the cool blues and warm golden tones of the painting spoke of a lazy sprawl in the morning sun, strong muscles soft with sleep, and tousled dark hair above a face turned away from the viewer. Every line held a sweet desire, a yearning, and Clark..._knew_.

 

. . .

 

 

The sun was slanting toward the evening when Clark let himself back into the apartment, and it immediately brought to mind the play of light and shadow that Lex loved trying to capture. He halted just before entering the living room, curious. The bright rays bypassed the corner where Lex slouched cross-legged, his back tucked into the notch between the two walls. The paintings were where Clark had left them and Lex stared in their general direction, seeing nothing but his personal demons writhing, exposed. His gray-clad arm lifted cut crystal to his lips as Clark watched him, the cold chink of ice against glass the only sound under the high ceilings.

 

With a sigh, Clark kicked off his sneakers and padded across the room. Stepping over Lex, he insinuated himself behind him, his legs bracketing Lex's and forcing them to straighten out. Leaning back, he tugged Lex until the older man rested against his chest, Clark's arms looped around him loosely. Clark tipped his head far enough forward to rest his chin on Lex's shoulder, and then asked gently, "Please tell me what you're frightened of."

 

The clunk of the glass against the floor sounded final, closed off, yet Lex's voice was open, a clear offering of truth. "At first, I was too scared to admit how much I needed you, and then I ended up being afraid that you wouldn't come back, wouldn't stay so that I could."

 

Clark let the confession hang in the air for a moment before admitting, "For a while, I wasn't too sure about that myself. I walked around thinking things through, and then I decided I'd better get back here...to rescue the paintings, if nothing else. They're fantastic...and I was afraid you'd tear them to shreds."

 

"I could never...they're like pieces of _you_." The base of Lex's skull rubbed against Clark's shoulder as he protested Clark's half-teasing accusation, "I kept looking at them and thinking that as frightening as they were, they were all I had left. I was so sure I was never going to be able to make things right between us."

 

"So...it turns out that sometimes the all-powerful Lex Luthor miscalculates."

 

"Not so strong when it comes to you. You've blown by all my defenses and, as a result, I've made mistake after mistake. I...all I wanted was to be with you, and instead I...."

 

"Hey, I admit that we still have a lot to talk about, including what you wouldn't let me tell you last night. But, your..._our_...biggest mistake has been holding back, Lex, thinking that _we_ can't make this work if we reveal who we really are."

 

"I'm not sure I understand."

 

"Why do you think I stayed after I figured out Mr. Joseph was actually you? By now, you have to _know_ it wasn't the money, right?"

 

"No...I never thought it was, but I guess I didn't want to think about it...was too afraid to hope. I don't want to make another bad assumption, so just tell me. Why did you stay?"

 

"Because I decided the chance to spend some time with you, to learn something more about you...more than tabloid headlines...was worth the pain I would go through when I finally had to leave."

 

"Was it? Worth it, I mean."

 

Clark gathered Lex in closer and tipped his head so that his lips touched the fragile shell of Lex's ear. He whispered, "I'm afraid I'm not ready to answer that question. I'm not sure that I ever will be."

 

Lex held himself still as he whispered back, "Why not?"

 

Clark's reply was a nuzzled murmur that left Lex sagging against him in relief.

 

"Because not all of your dreams are nightmares, Lex, and I'm not walking away."

  


[](http://pics.livejournal.com/danceswithgary/pic/0008xf5k)  
Click For Full Size

**Author's Note:**

> [Cover Art](http://pics.livejournal.com/danceswithgary/pic/000ak395)  
> This story was inspired by lapetite-kiki's [Clark manip](http://lapetite-kiki.livejournal.com/42106.html). I knew I had to write a story about it the minute I saw it!  
> [Story Art](http://pics.livejournal.com/danceswithgary/pic/0008xf5k)
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>  
> 
> Remix: [Art Appreciation (Boxed Wine and Crackers Remix](http://community.livejournal.com/remixredux09/32010.html)


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